


In the Moonlight, Red

by blotsandcreases



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Art, Baking, Community: interhouse_fest, F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Knitting, People Striving To Communicate, People Striving to Learn To Be Better, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 12:11:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8844454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blotsandcreases/pseuds/blotsandcreases
Summary: The Wizarding World long thought that Lavender Brown had died. Padma just wants to wear her favourite red cloak and bring cake to Cho's retreat cottage, so of course she runs into Lavender Brown in the Muggle world.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to C for the speedy beta, this being my first ever fest! All remaining mistakes are mine. Thank you so much to the mods as well for being patient and for excellent work on the fest!
> 
> And to the [tumblr post](http://silkseraph.tumblr.com/post/152190154018/8hy-i-love-the-color-red-its-so-versatile) I encountered whilst writing this, thank you. I wrote half the fic after sleeping at 4am and stumbling home from my meeting with a uni adviser, and I needed a title. :D

Parvati had said, “Padma, I’m trusting you to bake an apple cake for Cho’s birthday.”

Mandy had said, “Padma, for the love of Wendelin, do _not_ just quit your job.”

Only one of them turned out to be right, Padma mused as her ankle boots crushed red and gold leaves along a narrow road.

This was not because of Padma harbouring a blithe disregard for Mandy’s advice. She had taken to heart plenty of Mandy’s advice through the years, because aside from recommending excellent quill brands and Flooing each other at odd hours to squeal over Agatha Shafiq’s latest book, best mates also carefully considered each other’s advice.

During First Year Potions when Mandy had said, “I think we should add just a pinch – just the tiniest pinch – of powdered horn of bicorn,” Padma had added a pinch of said ingredient and they had received top marks. So Padma had shared her mango tarts from home with Mandy Brocklehurst and they had become best mates.

During Seventh Year when Mandy had tearfully said, after a narrow escape from the Carrows, “Don’t move your ankle, please, Padma, please, it’ll only get worse,” Padma had gritted her teeth, accepted that she wouldn’t be able to finish her Arithmancy homework on time after their DA activities, and had not moved her ankle.

Last year when Mandy had suggested, over a jumble of lipsticks in a cosmetics shop, “Want to have drinks at The Unicorn,” Padma had picked a scarlet shade of lippie and spent the evening in said pub, and the night on the rug by the Harpies’ Chaser Valmai Morgan’s coffee table, one sweaty hand gripping the walnut coffee table leg and the other gripping Valmai Morgan’s green-tipped hair.

But last month when Mandy had dramatically wailed, “What about revolutionising the future of banking? Padma, love, what about _stocks_? What about _investment banking_?”

“Cho has corrupted you,” Padma had replied, tossing bits of cereal on Mandy’s auburn curls.

Mandy had only brushed off the cereal, lamenting about the wasted Muggle inspiration on Padma as they had finished their breakfast in a coffee shop.

And so halfway through the first decade of the new millennium, after stepping out of the coffee shop and into the sunlit Diagon Alley, overcome by either madness or a rare daring, Padma had promptly stridden over to Gringotts and quit her job.

Padma slowed her steps. Daylight was melting away from the sky, turning into the mist cloaking the slick leaf-strewn path ahead. The road forked into two narrow, equally leaf strewn paths, and there were some people around. On the left fork three teenagers in uniforms were ambling home and an old man was walking a dog. On the right fork a lady had just emerged in running gear, jogging past Padma. A schoolboy was bent over beneath a rustling oak tree, tying his shoe laces.

Padma huddled into her crimson cloak and pressed the cake box closer to her chest. Luna had said that this part of Gloucester had a handful of Muggleborns and Half-bloods so the Apparition point had been pushed back to a few kilometres for safety purposes. A girl with some white cords stuck in her ears cycled past Padma towards the right fork, and Padma followed her. Luna had instructed to take the right fork. In this Padma was sure that she wouldn’t be lost.

Padma was still getting used to disappointments. She had been academically gifted, rivaling only Hermione Granger in their year. Dad had often patted her cheek, his hand heavy with gold rings and approval. Mum had frequently packed her extra mango tarts before engulfing her in melon scented hugs. Parvati used to braid Padma’s long hair and tell Padma of how promising Padma was.

How promising. How promisingly lost Padma felt right now.

Arithmancy had been as easy as unwrapping sweets. Padma could do Arithmancy backwards, sideways, and with her eyes crossed. It was Professor Vector who had put in a recommendation for her for Gringotts, smiling over her spectacles at Padma, because of course it was to be expected that Padma would pursue this even after the war. Padma had expected it herself, a map of sorts, precise and tangible and real enough to hold on to. It was economically safe, and practical, and she was more than good at it.

But for the longest time it had been a chore to claw her way up and stagger from her bed every morning. More than once Padma had looked up from her Arithmancy sheets, at the ink stains blotting black on her deep brown skin, wondering what she was doing and seeing no light at the end of a long workday apart from the weekends.

So there had been something equally terrifying and liberating when she had submitted her last impeccable Arithmancy sheets to Nagnok and a copy to Bill Weasley. 

Mum and Dad were still grappling with this sudden life choice of hers, but Parvati had been supportive even when reports of Padma’s unemployed days only consisted of dabbling into baking and innumerable trips to the bookshop and the grocery. 

For the first time in her life, Padma had no map. There were no precise steps to take. Her future, when not tottering from uneventful to terribly bleak, looked as shapeless and vague as the mist.

Padma glanced at the cake box now, hoping that Cho would like this little surprise.

When she looked up again, the cycling lady had disappeared into the fog. The sky was considerably darker now, more indigo and dangerously close to blending in with the mist, so that it took a few blinks before Padma realised that another person was on the path, jogging to her direction.

Padma would not have paid much mind to the jogger had she not glimpsed at the face underneath the pastel blue cap.

It startled her so badly. Padma’s muscles jolted that she almost dropped the cake box.

Through the dewy russet gleam of the fast falling night, Lavender Brown emerged, very much alive and jogging on a rain-slick path.

Dead people did not jog. Dead people did not slow their jog, casting a curious look on a stiff-shocked figure in the middle of a path.

But Lavender Brown was apparently so very much alive that she gasped out, “Padma?”

It was very cold. Padma wished she had worn her gloves. Her fingers felt ghostly, as if they were someone else’s stiff fingers clutching on a cake box.

The cake box. Padma steeled herself, and she was reorienting herself with her hands when Lavender Brown made a hesitant step forward and Padma felt her muscles shuddering into a shocked recoil again.

“Hey, um,” Lavender Brown said, a hand halfway outstretched, “you look like you’re seconds away from keeling over.”

Padma took in a breath of the cool air. “Yes, well.” She firmly told herself to get it together. She must not drop the cake box. “I’m usually more alert than this. You’re – you are Lavender Brown, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I am.” Lavender Brown’s hand fell on her side, a crooked little smile on her lips. She was taller than Padma remembered, but that had been years ago when they were little more than kids: when Padma had only associated Lavender Brown with the summer holidays she had spent in the Patil house, sleeping over and painting nails and eating jalebi with Parvati, whilst Padma often sauntered out of their way to Floo over to Mandy’s.

There were other memories too. But Seventh Year memories were a bit of a blur now. Sometimes a specific one would assault Padma in vivid detail and she would break into cold sweat, but thankfully they remained vague.

The memory of everyone thinking that Lavender Brown had died was not vague, though.

“This is,” Padma ventured, a bit feebly, “very unexpected.”

“Yeah,” Lavender Brown said, before beaming, as if they were neighbours having a bit of a chat. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

A twining feeling of disconcertment and surrealism was crawling up Padma’s spine. It must be the wind whipping past the oak and nut trees curving over their heads. “I’m just visiting someone. Cho Chang, in fact.”

Night had fallen, and the mist was fast turning into shadows.

Lavender Brown furrowed her brows, tilting her head so that half her face was shadowed under the pastel blue cap. “Cho Chang’s living here?”

“No. She’s just having a bit of a holiday.”

They stared at each other awkwardly. Padma had so many questions but she wanted to keep the cake fresh. She just wanted to make sure one thing, though.

“Does Parvati know?”

Lavender Brown bit on her lip. “Ah, no. No.”

The wind that blew was shockingly cold and biting. Padma looked at Lavender Brown's tank top and cycling shorts with vague worry.

“No one knows,” Lavender Brown added.

Padma nodded. “All right.” It felt like an agreement to a secret.

Lavender Brown smiled an open, easy smile. Padma thought that she should be comforted by it, but she didn’t know how to feel. “Okay. I’m not keeping you any longer.”

“I hope you’re well, Lavender.” Padma had so many questions. “Be safe – on your jogging.”

Lavender Brown's good-natured giggle followed Padma along the faintly lit path. The moon was mostly hidden and there were no stars shining. Padma reached for her wand, for light, but she kept looking over her shoulder at the gloom of the mists where Lavender Brown had been, until she reached Cho’s cottage.

*

“Padma, this is _divine_ ,” Cho gushed, swiftly following it with another forkful of the apple cake. “Oh, Merlin.”

From the sofa Mrs. Longbottom said, “Marvellous cake, my dear. You said you have just been dabbling in baking?”

“Yes, Mrs. Longbottom,” Padma said. Her neck was warm. 

“I like the sugar to butter ratio,” was Luna’s verdict. Her apple earrings swung jauntily when she reached for the teapot. “Do have a slice yourself, Padma. It’s delicious.”

Padma had been very precise in her measurements. She plated a slice for herself and stood against the draining board. In the bright light of the cottage lamps, with the lumpy sofa and armchairs and half empty tea pots, and most of the flat surfaces covered with parchments and quills, everything so familiar and precise that Padma felt reassuringly grounded.

It was like the secret in the dark mists never happened.

“How long will you be in retreat?”

“We’ve got another five days, and we’ve got loads of work done,” Cho said. She sidled up to Padma to lay an apple-y kiss on her cheek. “Thank you so much, Paz.”

The three of them were in vastly different interests. Cho was the assistant of Agatha Shafiq’s editor. Mrs. Longbottom was completing a memoir. Luna was compiling her notes on fauna from various places. All of them had met in a knitting club that Luna had organised.

Padma found that she had no use for knitting. She had no use for frills and trifles.

“When is your sister returning?” Mrs. Longbottom said.

“In a month. She says she still has twenty countries to go through.”

“Butterflies,” Cho chuckled. “Parvati is such a darling.”

“I offered her my notes, you know,” Luna said. “Although Parvati is a much more avid observer of butterflies. I never knew that Harry also is.”

That bit was quite surprising, and amusing. Padma remembered Harry Potter’s narrow figure standing on the platform with Parvati, the mellow sun on his brown face and the too-long hair on his nape caught in a tiny tie. 

Mrs. Longbottom’s lips were curved behind her cup. 

Cho had a fond look in her limpid brown eyes. “That’s cute. I also didn’t know Harry loves butterflies. Reminds me of the time I saw Hermione Granger carrying a massive book on butterflies in the Ministry.”

Padma knew that Harry Potter and Parvati were not seeing each other, just two people brought together again by their inexplicable love for butterflies. She would have spelled it out in precise terms there in the cottage, but she also knew that war had changed a lot of relationships and how they saw one another. 

Besides the lot of them grew up, in their own ways. Padma found that her terrific crush on Angelina Johnson was nothing more than a passing admiration nowadays. She found that what she had liked when she was fifteen was very different from what she liked now.

Padma knew that Cho was casually seeing a Muggle guy from London. She steered the conversation there, and they learned terribly fascinating Muggle ways like _pens_ and _calculators_ and _cellphones_ , _Sugababes_ and _Pussycat Dolls_. Mrs. Longbottom took interest in the _keyboards_ and mused if they would be easier on her cramping fingers. Luna happily rambled about her trips to Muggle record shops with Harry Potter.

They chattered until they were full of cake, and afterwards they sang another song for Cho. 

The three ladies also insisted that Padma stay the night because the fireplace was not connected to the Floo Network. 

“Best not risk it, my dear,” Mrs. Longbottom said, her bony fingers tight on her copper-tipped cane. “I hear there are wild animals in these woods. Wolves and that sort.”

“No, Luna, there aren’t any Crumple-Horned Snorkacks here,” Cho said when Luna opened her mouth.

Luna looked quite put out. Cho squeezed her arm in comfort.

Padma put away her hoop earrings, choker and necklaces, rings and bangles, as she gazed up at the starless black night through a diamond paned window. As she fell asleep to the faint sounds of scratching quills, Padma thought that the wallpaper had a nicely precise pattern of blue flowers.

*

Padma left the cottage of well-meaning insistent ladies the next morning, nibbling on a chocolate macadamia biscuit from Mrs. Longbottom. She liked the chocolate but it could use another three-fourths teaspoon of brown sugar.

A long way from the merging of the forks, Muggle shops and houses beckoned to Padma with their sheer stodginess. There was a poster of a man kicking a ball on the shop window. The man and the ball were stationary, as if someone had cast a spell on them. Padma was so intrigued by this that she pushed into the shop behind a gaggle of schoolgirls, one of which eyed Padma with clear yet inexplicable judgment. Padma just raised an eyebrow at the girl which sent her scurrying.

The shop lights were inconsiderately bright. Padma blinked, scratching her cheek before shielding her eyes to peer up at the very bright light on the ceiling. Interesting. They were like flat, white lamps.

Padma gradually cheered as she strolled down the aisles, in this very strange shop, with its very strange wares: almost like magic. Feeling benevolent, she decided to purchase a bottle of a wine called Prosecco. She swung out of the shop with the plastic bag swinging by her leg, and promptly bumped into Lavender Brown by the door.

A gasp snagged on Padma’s throat.

Lavender Brown’s sun-bright hair spilled over her shoulder, its dark roots showing. She looked surprised to see Padma as well, and her face looked glamoured. It was a subtle charm, unnoticeable to Muggles but obvious enough to any witch worth her wand. In the morning light she looked more real though no less bewildering.

The metal handle of the door was reassuringly solid under Padma’s suddenly clammy palm. She narrowed her eyes. “Are you following me?”

Lavender Brown scoffed. “I have to get to work.”

Padma hesitated for a split-second before darting back inside the shop where Lavender Brown was grabbing two _pens_ from a rack. “That’s not an answer.”

“Why would I follow you?” Lavender sighed. “I live around here.”

She was wearing that odd Muggle garb, Padma noticed as she watched Lavender Brown walk up to the till. That garb that looked like the love child of a cloak and a robe, except that the black one that Lavender Brown was wearing stopped short on her mid-calves. 

Lavender Brown turned away from the till, cast a suspiciously exasperated look on Padma, and said, “Fancy a cup of coffee?”

“I thought you have to get to work.”

“Oh, do come on, Padma,” Lavender Brown said with a little laugh. “You’ve got to stop standing there with that cloak on.”

“What’s wrong with my cloak?” Padma said, and frowned down at the length of crimson which reached down to graze the tiled floor. It was her favourite cloak. It went well with her lippie and hair ribbon.

“It’s too witch,” Lavender Brown muttered, “and you’re in a Muggle area. So – no caffeine for you?”

Padma continued frowning. “You’re very insistent on this caffeine matter.”

“Because it’s early in the morning and you’re Padma,” Lavender Brown said, a smile tugging up the right corner of her mouth. “Parvati used to say you’re less of a scowly cloud after a good cup of caffeine. Also I’m starving.”

“Scowly?” Padma said, trailing Lavender Brown out of the shop.

“After a caffeine dose you turn into, like, a ray of sunshine,” Lavender Brown conceded. “A – marginal ray of sunshine.”

“I’m solemn-faced.”

“Okay,” Lavender chuckled. “Anyway I could always tell you two apart. Red and Pink.”

They ended up tucked in a café, between a frosted glass window and a small ornamental orange plant, its plastic oranges hanging low from plastic branches. Padma wistfully thought of her empty fruit bowl. She needed citrus. But right now her brain needed more sugar so she could take note to acquire Muggle garb when venturing to Muggle areas.

Padma hung her crimson cloak on the back of her chair and tried not to regret wearing only slate-grey pantaloons and a jumper under it. A jumper cut short on the midriff. She eyed Lavender Brown’s peacock blue ensemble underneath the black Muggle lovechild garb, and saw that Lavender Brown was already eyeing her midriff and the crescent ring glinting there.

“Eyes up, lass.”

Lavender Brown met her eyes and grinned. “Now I’m inspired to have my own piercing.”

Padma raised her brows. “Where would you be pierced?” 

“In a Muggle place, obviously,” Lavender Brown breezily replied.

The body artist Sophie had told Padma that it was more painful in the Muggle shops, and riskier as well. Padma doubted that it would be Lavender Brown’s sort of scene.

Padma nibbled at her cream cake. It was rich and had excellent ratio of butter and cream, like mild golden sunlight frothing on Padma’s tongue. After taking a fortifying sip of coffee, Padma went ahead and shoved at the elephant in the room. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen you.”

Lavender Brown glanced out the window. “Yeah. It’s for the best, really.”

“What do you mean?” Padma asked, frowning. 

With a steady marble gaze, Lavender Brown answered, “Come on. You must see my glamour.”

“Any wizard or witch can –” Padma began, and shut up.

Lavender Brown’s lips twisted wryly. “There you go. But not the Muggles.”

“Brown –”

“It’s fine.” Lavender Brown shook her head. “I’m mostly over it. Have to make the best of it, haven’t I?” She beamed over her cup of Assam as if that was supposed to reassure Padma. For a moment it did, and it looked like she was seeing the Lavender before 1997, unfailingly giggly and intimidatingly chipper and not pretending to be dead.

Padma curled her hand around her hot cup. She almost feared the answer, but she still asked in case she was misunderstanding it. You did not let people think you were dead if you just thought they wouldn’t like how you looked. “How did you – I mean, beneath the glamour. What is it?”

“Greyback,” whispered Lavender Brown.

Padma heard herself suck in a breath. She noted in sudden clarity Lavender Brown’s weather-inappropriate attire from last night. Lavender Brown must have been warm enough. No wonder.

The morning light from outside was turning softer, brighter, and Padma stared as it touched Lavender Brown’s glamoured face. Padma had to tamp down the instinct to recoil. Werewolves were still shunned, especially after the war when the numbers of those affected with variations of lycanthropy had ramped up. Little Teddy Lupin had to have Ministry officials come calling to Andromeda Tonks’ doorstep every month to monitor him to make sure that lycanthropy wasn’t hereditary.

But this was Lavender Brown. Her twin’s best mate. Lavender Brown, whom Padma knew of but didn’t really know, who had played with colourful bubbles in the Patils’ upstairs bath with Parvati and who was a frequent dinner guest in the summers.

Padma breathed out slowly. She cast a glance around the sedate and false fruit-laden café before turning to say in a low voice, “Are you taking Wolfsbane?”

“No need to be clinical about it,” Lavender Brown said, lightly. 

Padma scowled just as lightly. “I’m not being clinical. I’m just asking a question.”

Lavender Brown cut up a piece of her chicken pie. “You are. Parvati called it your Swotty Voice. But it’s okay.” She popped the chicken in her mouth and said, “And I do. Take the potion. My aunt in Granada is a Potions Mistress.”

Padma processed this. She tipped two more teaspoons of sugar, in almost identical heaps, into her black coffee. So Lavender Brown was a werewolf, a full one. Bill Weasley with his scars did not let people think he was dead.

When Padma looked up from her measured stirs, she found Lavender Brown peering at her over that stout cup of Assam, eyes amused behind the steam. “What?”

“Oh, nothing. I think I’ve missed you. You were always so very particular.”

Padma clinked her teaspoon twice on the mouth of her cup. “Why are you telling me all these?”

When they were eleven, Padma and Parvati had come to terms with the world-altering fact that they were two completely different people. But that still meant that they tolerated each other’s friends, even though Padma had never really made the effort to get to know Parvati’s, turning up her nose at their constant boy-talk and overly complicated nail art. Padma had been fine with what she’d seen of Lavender Brown back then.

But this was now. She didn’t know the woman sitting across from her. Padma had no reason to trust her. Lavender Brown did not trust Parvati with this secret.

Lavender Brown shifted in her seat, and Padma saw her swallow. “Well, um. I didn’t exactly plan it. It was – a snap of the moment. You already saw me and you must have lots of questions, and you saw me twice so I thought, well, why not.”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone, if that’s what you want,” Padma told her. “I didn’t tell anyone.”

“That’s very nice. I appreciate that.” Lavender Brown beamed at her again before glancing at the clock. “And now I must dash.”

“That’s it?” Padma said, blankly. “You wouldn’t – you wouldn’t extract more promises to keep your secret?”

The smile melted off from Lavender Brown’s face. “Like what? An Unbreakable Vow? A threat to you?” When Padma did not answer, she abruptly grabbed the black Muggle garb from her chair and stood up. “You’ve already given me your word. And I have more pressing concerns than chasing after you to rip out your throat.”

Padma flinched. Lavender Brown gave her one last cold look. 

She stayed seated there long after Lavender Brown had stridden out of the café. 

*

The musical artist Shores was crooning and drawling atmospheric songs from the Wizard Wireless. Padma felt a profound sense of well-being as she stirred the chocolate with the cream cheese that would go in the buns she was baking.

It was an overcast day. Padma paused her stirring to light her pumpkin lamp with a flick of her wand. She picked up her spatula again as the amber glow crawled from the carved frames on the walls to the tottering pile of books on the oven, from the trail of quills on the kitchen table to the discarded silk stockings hanging on the kitchen door’s handle to the jumble of unwashed crockery by her cook book.

Padma’s flat might be quite – cluttered. Well, more like a storm-wrecked site with fetching red stockings draped around. But she still kept her cook book in healthy condition.

She glanced at her page now, rechecking the procedures as she set aside her mixing bowl and started on the buns.

There was something infinitely comforting about baking: about the list of what to put together, and the list of how to put it all together. Sometimes she had to experiment and make amendments to the lists, but having lists at all was a win. Lists were like maps. And baking was rather like Potions only Padma got to have fun having a taste, and if she did it right there was also something comforting about other people liking it. And if she dared she might assemble recipes of her own, and wouldn’t it be great if people liked them as well?

Padma liked that: she liked seeing people viscerally affected by what she had wrought. 

Mrs. Longbottom had Owled her to compliment the apple cake again. Apparently Mrs. Longbottom had mentioned this to Andromeda Tonks. 

“I devoutly hope that I am not bothering you, Miss Patil,” Andromeda Tonks had said, as dark wisps of her hair had floated in Padma’s fireplace.

“Of course not, Mrs. Tonks,” Padma had assured her.

“My grandson also likes a touch of blue with everything he comes in contact with,” Andromeda Tonks had added. “I suspect it has to do with the blue bubbles his godfather always magic with him.”

Little Teddy Lupin, Padma wondered as she put the chocolate cream cheese in the buns. Who was not a werewolf at all.

But his father had been.

Padma slid the tray of buns in the oven and leaned her hip against the counter in thought. 

Professor Lupin had been her favourite, second only to Professor McGonagall. He was patient and kind and mild-mannered, and his classes felt like it wouldn’t be too bad if you made a mistake. If you had made a mistake it had been all right: he would correct you as a teacher and you would learn as a student. Padma had adored him for that. She had learned to see learning in a different light.

And then they had learned that he was a werewolf.

But he was a werewolf all along. All the while he had been adored and admired Professor Lupin he had been a werewolf. They had just not known before. But he had still been Professor Lupin.

Padma bit on her lip. The whispering tunes of Shores washed over her along with a feeling of lousiness. 

She could still see Lavender Brown’s easy open smile, and how it had shuttered.

Viscerally affected by Padma’s words, something Padma had wrought.

When the buns finished baking Padma set aside half of the batch so she could charm the flecks of chocolate on them to be blue. 

Then she paused in the middle of her pumpkin-lighted cluttered flat, quickly categorising: the buns tucked in the wicker basket with a warming charm, the barely consumed bottle of Prosecco from the Muggle shop, the red silk stockings by the door knob.

It all slid into place in Padma’s mind, and she was grabbing her cloak shortly before dashing out of the door.

*

Now that she had left Andromeda Tonks’ there were less buns in Padma’s basket although there was more nervousness in what she was about to do.

The cold wind prickled Padma’s cheek, whispering through the crooked curve of the oak branch over Padma’s head and making Padma’s red cloak flutter. She shifted the basket on her arm, waiting.

Through the freshly fallen evening, Lavender Brown emerged from the right fork of the road at last.

Padma’s nervousness spiked. She started to feel ridiculous, dawdling here where the roads forked in this Muggle place.

“I thought there was something different,” said Lavender Brown, her face neutral. At least Padma couldn’t see a wide smile beneath the shadow of the pale blue cap. Mist and wind did not appear to perturb Lavender and her blue tank top.

For several alarming heartbeats Padma couldn’t think of what to say. She gripped at the handle of the basket, digging her palm on the cold wicker coils, and blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

 _Dear_ Wendelin. Let the mist transform into a hand and smack her now.

Lavender Brown’s head made a sharp little movement, but she remained silent.

“I’m sorry,” Padma rushed out. But before she rambled like what she felt was going to happen she gripped harder at the basket handle. She wanted to choose her words carefully, communicate precisely. She’d never been quite as daring as Parvati when it came to confrontations.

“Look, Brown,” Padma tried again, her voice measured. “I am sorry for what happened at the café. I was being gross. I didn’t – I don’t know how to handle myself when with people affected by lycanthropy. I’ve never had to. But just today I thought about Professor Lupin, and his son, and –” Padma took a deep breath, wishing she could clearly see Lavender Brown’s face – “and I want to learn. I want to be less gross. I am very sorry.”

Lavender Brown took half a step towards her. Padma heard her clear her throat. “Okay, Padma. I forgive you.” 

“Thank you,” Padma said.

“Right,” Lavender Brown said, “right.” After a pause she continued, “Are you going somewhere? To visit?”

“Oh,” Padma said, gesturing at the basket, “actually these are for you.”

“Really?”

“I’ve just come from Andromeda Tonks’ Halloween party. I’ve baked a batch for her grandson and I saved some for you.” 

This time when Lavender Brown tilted her head, her face was dressed with shadows and a smile. “Thanks. Ah, wait, give me a moment.”

Padma watched her reach to her back and pull out her wand.

Lavender Brown laughed at Padma’s raised brows. “I keep my wand at the back of my bra when I jog.” She swiped at her cap with the same hand holding her wand, revealing her bright hair tied in a knot, and a grin on her face.

She’d just glamoured her face, Padma realised. Padma wanted to assure Lavender Brown that she wouldn’t mind but it struck her that Lavender Brown might.

“We can share the basket,” Lavender Brown said. She approached Padma, and her hand touched the curve of the wicker. “I mean, if you like? There’s a park nearby. We can share the basket in the park. If you like.”

“Yes,” Padma said. “Where’s the park?”

Lavender Brown fell in step beside Padma. A silence fell between them as well. Padma couldn’t tell if it was awkward or not. Padma groped around for a common topic and picked one. “Thank you for accepting my apology. I can’t stress how sorry I am.”

“Yeah,” Lavender Brown said, glancing at her. “Like I said, I forgive you. I’m glad you’re sorry. It was dreadful, to be honest. But it’s nothing I didn’t expect.”

Padma flinched. “That’s terrible, I’m sorry. Look, Brown, if I ever stupidly say more gross things tell me.”

“Okay,” Lavender Brown said, “right. I’m taking you to picnic.”

An autumn picnic, Padma mused. There were first times for everything. Then her brain caught up with the conversation. “A picnic, yes. Like a test?”

Lavender Brown tilted her head, without ever fully facing Padma, so that Padma could still see her frown. “Like a – well, um. No? But maybe. Yes? But like, to catch up properly.”

“I didn’t understand half of what you said.”

They paused in the middle of a slick road, at the mouth of the town. Lavender Brown exhaled and ran a hand through her hair. Her fingers snagged on the knot. “Okay. How do I put this?” 

Lavender Brown tugged off the band. Her hair came loose in a fall of tight curls. She ran her hand from the dark roots to the sun-bright tips, frowning in thought. Padma waited.

“Okay, right,” said Lavender Brown. “You know when you use tea bags?”

“Yes?” Padma was quite bewildered, but she believed in diverse expressions. “Sometimes I use tea leaves.”

“Or tea leaves, right.” Lavender Brown nodded. “So the point is when you let the tea steep. That is what we’re going to do. Also it would be nice, because I haven’t talked to any witch from school for years. D’you know what I mean?”

“I – think so, yes.”

“Am I saying it right?” Lavender Brown restlessly tugged at her hair. “You can think of me as the tea bag. Or the tea leaves.”

“All right,” Padma said, feeling the corner of her mouth tug upwards. “I understand what you’re saying.”

“Do you? Thank Merlin.” Lavender Brown resumed walking, and Padma did as well. “Often I don’t get across my meaning well.”

Padma bit her lip. “I’m sure the – er, steeping will help you practise.”

Lavender Brown beamed. “Right? Cleverly said. Yeah, you do get it.”

In the park they found a stone bench at the curve of the stone path. There were no stars tonight, and the moon was hidden but there was a tall odd lamp beside the bench.

“That’s an electric lamp,” Lavender Brown informed Padma. “Street lamp.”

There were quite a few street lamps around here. Padma gazed at the one beside their bench with hesitant approval. “They seem to have sturdy light.”

Lavender Brown laughed. She explained _electricity_ as they opened the basket and out came the chocolate cream cheese buns, still hot, and the couple of red apples, and the bottle of Prosecco. Padma Conjured two glasses for them.

“So as long as there is no power outage,” Padma summarised, “you don’t need to bother with logs or coal or oil. That’s very convenient.”

“A very sturdy light,” Lavender Brown agreed, with Padma’s words, a laugh in her eyes.

“I feel hurt by this mockery,” Padma said, lightly.

Lavender Brown burst out giggling. She set down her half full cup with a trembling hand as her shoulders shook. “You always do that. Be funny with a straight face.” She raised a deeply pink finger. “Oh wait! Be funny with a _solemn face_. Careless of me.”

“All right,” Padma said, feeling her lips twitch. She wondered how Lavender Brown managed to be always bubbling with mirth, as if with just a shake she could fizz and splash out good humour.

“So what do you do,” Padma said, “aside from being versed in electricity?”

Lavender Brown rolled her neck and shoulders, like Padma often did as soon as soon she woke up. She paused with her face serenely tipped up towards the glow of the street lamp, so that Padma could clearly see the glamour on her face and shoulders and arms. Lavender Brown’s thick lashes were tipped with gold by the lamp light.

Padma blinked.

Then Lavender Brown seemed to remember Padma was there. Lavender Brown quickly half-turned her face away again and fiddled with her cap.

“I work in a Muggle weather office.” Lavender Brown picked up her glass. “I predict the weather.”

“Predict.” Padma couldn’t help but think of kooky Professor Trelawney and that one awful term involving crystal balls.

“Don’t start,” Lavender Brown said. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s not like divination. Or even astrology. It’s all charts and graphs.”

“Muggles can do divination with charts and graphs.”

Lavender Brown laughed. “In a way. I attended a Muggle university, you know. Had to take their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s first, of course. The exams are named differently. I was older than the usual lot. Mum and Dad had to do some, um, smoothening with my previous records. So, then! I am a very accomplished weather seer.”

“You love being a weather seer,” Padma observed. 

“Yeah, very much.” Lavender Brown pointed to the inky black sky over them. “There will be a storm next week. There’s a tropical depression so lots of rain than usual, no stars tonight. I did a graph for the storm’s path and expected deviations.”

Padma was quite impressed, and a little envious. “And it all comes true.”

“Yeah,” Lavender Brown said with a grin. “There’s, like, 60% to 70% chance of predictions coming true. It’s why I love it so much. It’s the weather, after all, so it’s not 100%. And thank Merlin for that if, say, it’s predicted that a hurricane will be hitting us hard in its path.”

Padma didn’t expect Lavender Brown to love charts and graphs, with what she knew of the other woman back in Hogwarts. But then, Padma thought wryly, she also didn’t expect to be a resigned Arithmancer so she had to rid of herself with such judgments.

“It’s a shame that there are no stars tonight,” was all Padma said around her apple. “At least I can properly appreciate this street lamp.”

Padma liked the street lamp’s precise and sturdy light. No flickering, no crackling, no nonsense. 

“Yeah,” Lavender Brown said. “I like it better. The street lamp, I mean. It makes for a better moon.”

Padma slowly lowered her apple. “Brown –” 

“Don’t you think it’s too formal?” Lavender Brown said, still in her lively voice. “That you call me Brown? Come on, I slept over hundreds of times in your house. We wrestled for a stuffed pony one Easter hols and Parvati had to pull at my hair.”

Padma couldn’t think of anything to say to the moon bit, and it wasn’t any better with this one. “You – don’t want to talk about the street lamp moon?”

“No,” was Lavender Brown’s firm reply. She still had a wide smile, but her eyes were hard. “I’d like for things to be nice.”

“All right,” Padma said, quite taken aback.

Lavender Brown did not miss a beat. “Okay! I call you Padma because I can’t call you Patil, it’s too weird, with Parvati and everything.”

Padma hesitated. 

“It’ll be fine,” Lavender Brown said. “I mean you already know my secret, and I already ate buns out of your basket.”

“Buns – my basket –” Padma frowned. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be too familiar? We don’t feel too familiar.”

Lavender Brown considered this in two seconds flat before nodding sagely. She took a sip of her wine and gestured at Padma with the glass, as if Padma were the weather chart. “We will be.”

*

At first Padma did not notice it. She had recipes to try, little baking explosions to contain. Parvati regularly sent photos of butterflies enclosed in glowing reports. Mum and Dad wanted to know if Padma had applied for a job yet. And Mandy had announced over Floo one night that she had proposed to Lee Jordan.

“We’re going to marry on the 25th of March!” Mandy had said, before cackling. “First day of spring. Isn’t it grand, Paz?”

Padma had dipped her spoon into the sauce pan with melted chocolate bars. “So that’s in two months?”

“Why not. We agreed we’ll be courting each other for the rest of our lives.”

“I’m so happy for you, you squirrel,” Padma had said with a smile. 

“I’m so glad that you’re so happy for me, love,” Mandy had said, “because I have a request for my best mate in all the world.”

“She wants me to bake her an orange wedding cake,” Padma grumbled to Lavender Brown. It was a grumble of love, because Padma would always love Mandy and her inexplicable choices, amongst them: having vile raisins with cream like one would have strawberries with cream, and wanting an orange wedding cake. “Just imagine it.”

“I won’t,” Lavender Brown said, cheerfully. “I’d like for my imagination to remain untraumatised. D’you think this is a good potato?”

“It is.” Padma slid a bunch of celery in her own basket. She rather liked Muggle groceries, with their baskets and trolleys and plastic rolls for produce. “But – orange cake. It’s like a pink elephant.”

“Not for me. No pink elephants,” Lavender Brown insisted as she twisted the plastic bag with six potatoes and put it in her own basket. “Have you had lunch? Fevered imagination, I’m telling you. Alert the Rorschach constabulary!”

“What are you on about?” Padma said with mild amusement.

Lavender Brown shrugged. “Not much. No pink elephants for me, is what I’m saying. Although pink is my favourite colour.”

They advanced to the meat section. Lavender Brown ordered six steak cuts.

“Two weeks of rare steak sounds good,” she casually told Padma. 

Padma almost did not notice but it had been two months since they started this. There had been a handful of chocolate cream cheese buns left in the basket, and Padma had insisted that Lavender Brown take home the basket. A week later Padma had pushed into that Muggle café with the plastic oranges to retrieve the basket and found Lavender Brown eating a “£2 chocolate cake.”

Lavender Brown had greeted her with, “Your chocolate tastes better. Thicker. More moist.”

That Saturday afternoon started with Padma surreptitiously Conjuring a fork of her own to take a bite of the chocolate cake slice and offer her critique, and ended with an offer by Lavender Brown to shop in the nearby grocery for dinner.

Padma had come and was introduced to a whole shelf of different kinds of butter. It had been almost orgasmic. Suddenly the world had been suffused with a gentle buttery glow. The glow had carried her and her armful of butter all the way to the till, where Lavender Brown had purchased three balls of yarn.

Padma kept coming back for the butter. And the eggs. Muggles did something with their eggs. 

Padma stayed even as Lavender Brown had started chattering about knitting patterns. Padma remembered briefly wrinkling her nose. She also remembered trying to be interested since Lavender Brown had seemed interested with Padma’s solemn rant on cocoa to sugar ratio back in the café with the plastic oranges.

They had been really fun outings. Padma had to admit that she really liked how Lavender Brown could be so intent and determined in almost everything, from practising new knitting patterns to searching for a particular shade of nail polish.

It was only now that Padma realised how “grocery shopping with Lavender Brown” had sidled into her routine, four times a week at six in the evening. 

It was only now that Lavender Brown alluded to a coming full moon.

“Take it with roasted potatoes,” Padma told her. “Roasted golden. Salt and pepper. A lick of butter as they roast. Buttered French beans, too.”

Lavender Brown’s wide smile was limned with the light and shadow of the contrasting grocery lights and the meat section’s lamps. “You love butter way too much. But yeah, okay, I’ll have buttered potatoes.”

“I’m despairing at orange cakes way too much,” Padma muttered.

“You could contrast it with white, I think?” Lavender Brown said. She pursed her lips in thought, glossed with the stick that Padma had helped her pick. Padma’s eyes flicked to them and she bit on her own. She did her best not to hack out the bitter taste of her own lippie. “Does she want it to be orange in flavour, too?”

“She didn’t say,” Padma said slowly. Well.

“Carrot,” Lavender Brown said. “Carrot, I’m telling you. All of my health-crazed mates are all about carrot cake.”

“Mandy’s not health-crazed.” Padma was curious about Lavender Brown’s friends, though. They had to be Muggles. She hesitated before deciding to talk about her own friends. “A big part of Mandy’s right cheek is burned from the Battle. She also likes the thought of investment banking.”

Lavender Brown said nothing as they loaded their shopping on the till. 

When they stepped out of the grocery a light rain was pouring. The street lamps lined the rain in silver. 

Padma persevered to connect with Lavender Brown. She had to admit that it felt nice to have someone new to talk to. She wanted to know about Lavender Brown’s friends. 

“Lee Jordan is all right,” Padma continued. “A right laugh, and warm. He’s all right with Mandy’s burn since he’s also got a slash across his face –”

“Can we please,” Lavender Brown cut in, “just talk about cake?”

The fairy lights strung up above the shop’s doors sparkled against Lavender Brown’s face. Her eyes were hard, and there was no smile on her lips.

“I was about to ask about your friends,” Padma said, confused. She shifted her bags, the plastic crushing as they knocked against her leg. “I thought – it would be all right to talk about mine.”

Lavender Brown let out a humourless little laugh. “Okay. Even in small talk you’re always intense. Like, hmm, let’s see. A common topic between us: let’s talk about lycanthropy! D’you know my friend? She likes tea with no milk, and oh, she’s also burned!”

Padma could feel irritation rise up in her. “What in Merlin’s name are you on about?”

“I meant it when I asked you for things to be nice.”

“So friends are not a nice topic, is that it?” Padma breathed in. She tried not to be hasty with words even though this conversational turn was making her head spin.

Lavender Brown started to tug on her hair. “It is. It is, but not that.”

Padma breathed out slowly. Still she could feel the irritation simmering. She had been coming to learn that Lavender Brown was difficult to communicate with. “Did you also mean it when you said we will be familiar with each other?”

“Yeah, yeah I did.” Lavender Brown’s vigorous nod made her pile of hair bob. “I do mean it.”

“So I am also trying to be,” Padma told her. “I thought part of getting to know each other is to talk about each other’s friends?”

“You’re talking about unpleasant things just now,” Lavender Brown said through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to talk about _that_. I don’t want to think about the Battle.”

No pink elephants.

“So all you want to talk about is nonsense things,” Padma said.

“Not nonsense!” Lavender Brown burst out. “Is baking nonsense to you? Is knitting?” An expression must have passed through Padma’s face because Lavender Brown curled her lip. “Oh, right. You don’t have too much regard on knitting, do you? Or nail polish, or curling your hair, or magazines, or any of that.”

“I don’t understand what you’re bloody on about!” Padma snapped. Passing people had begun to cast curious looks on them.

“None of the things we’ve learned about each other is fucking nonsense!” Lavender Brown’s voice had gone tight, and Padma heard the tear of the plastic of Lavender Brown’s bags. “I just want for things to be nice!”

“That’s not how friendship works,” Padma said. “It’s not all about nice things.”

Lavender Brown whirled around and stalked through the rain.

Padma was left standing there, stunned.

*

They didn’t talk to each other for two weeks. 

On the afternoon after the full moon, Padma’s post included a letter.

 _I’m sorry I walked out on you_ , Lavender Brown had written. _I didn’t mean to leave. I didn’t want to hurt you or anyone there. It was near full moon_.

The green lace curtains behind Padma’s sofa fluttered. The pink stationery paper was thick between her fingers, and she contemplated it for a long time. Her coffee had nearly gone cold. Wendelin the Weird’s biography was momentarily forgotten, softly thumping back on the pile of new books by Padma’s apple-red sofa.

Lavender Brown had walked out on Padma twice now. First because Padma had been gross, and then because Lavender Brown had been difficult to communicate with. And before either of those, Lavender Brown had walked off the British Wizarding World.

Padma had walked off her presumed map as Arithmancer as well.

It seemed like the both of them were the types who leave.

Padma tapped the embossed silver flowers on the pink stationery.

But she had sought out Lavender Brown again to give her a basket. And Lavender Brown had sought her out to return the basket, and now a letter after a full moon. Besides Padma had really liked spending time with her.

Padma sat in her cluttered flat for a few more moments, mildly stricken. She didn’t have a map for this one.

She had had a map with Arithmancy but she didn’t like spending time with that one: it had felt more like a countdown. So she had left without looking back.

But Padma had looked back for Lavender Brown through the mists since that first night.

Padma knew this was not going to be easy. But really, not everything had to be all about nice things. 

Carefully Padma folded the stationery and tucked it in her book. She picked up her nearly forgotten coffee, nearly gone cold, but she still finished her cup, chasing the warmth. Then she Conjured a piece of parchment and a quill.

After a beat, Padma wrote: _How are you? Would you like for me to pop by_?

*

Lavender Brown’s street had crumbly grey and white cobblestones. It was beyond the right fork of the road, after the right fork yawned into a residential area tucked beside the woods and cottages.

The first thing that Padma noticed was how neat and orderly Lavender Brown’s flat was. There were no piles of books sprouting like mushrooms: there were coffee table books and there were books neatly stacked in a bookcase. The curtains were drawn as wide as possible, tied together with knitted ribbons, as if to let in as much sunlight as possible through the casement windows.

Of course. Lavender Brown liked things to be nice.

In fact she was there lying on an aggressively floral sofa.

“Hello,” Padma managed to say. She pressed the parcel of brownies closer to her stomach. She didn’t know how to pick her way across an orderly room.

Lavender Brown sat up on the sofa, and patted it. “Hey. Come sit. You can hang your cloak here.”

Curls had escaped from Lavender Brown’s hasty bun. There were deep shadows under her eyes and her jumper-clad shoulders were drooping. She had been cuddling a little white rabbit.

“I brought you brownies.” Padma sat on the flowery sofa after laying her red cloak on the sofa’s arm. The rabbit sniffed curiously. “What’s the rabbit’s name?”

Lavender Brown opened the parcel and smiled. “I don’t know. I met it last night. Fancy a cuppa?”

“All right,” Padma said, and was assaulted by an image of a werewolf making friends with a rabbit. She didn’t know whether to find it fascinatingly horrifying or too adorable.

Lavender Brown's arm feebly shook as she fetched her wand. It was resting on the artful and precise doilies covering the coffee table.

“You know what,” Padma said, “I can do it.”

Lavender Brown’s lips quirked. They were pale and chapped. “I can manage it, you know. I just feel, like, sluggish. Everything I do will be tortoise-paced.”

“All right,” Padma said briskly. “So you just sit there. You can tell me how to navigate your kitchen.”

Lavender Brown’s tea cosy was a bright knitted creation studded with large buttons. Padma couldn’t help smiling at it as she set down the tray on the coffee table.

“Did you knit this?” asked Padma, taking Lavender Brown’s proffered brownie. 

“Yeah.” Lavender Brown bit into her brownie and gave a happy sigh. “All the knitting you see is by me. This is delicious.”

“Thank you.”

Padma catalogued the tea cosy, the doilies on the coffee table and in the kitchen table, the ribbons for the curtains, the lamp wrap, and the sprawling piece framed on the wall across the bookshelf.

Just looking at those on the coffee table made Padma curious. The patterns were so precise and looked like a lot of thought and effort went into them. Knitting looked far from trifle.

“Your knitting work is amazing,” Padma said at last. “They’re actual pieces of art.”

“Oh, well, you know,” Lavender Brown said with pride. “I love nice things.”

“They’re more than nice,” Padma pronounced. “You have a deft hand. And a great eye for colours and patterns.”

Lavender Brown tilted her head with a soft smile. “That’s such a nice thing to say. Thank you. I’m growing flowers in my balcony, too. My friends often tell me I’ve got a green thumb.”

They smiled at each other. Padma rather liked the curve of Lavender Brown’s lips.

“There’s a saying that good gardeners are also good with weather,” Lavender Brown said. She poured herself another cup, and drank with neither milk nor sugar. “So I like making my home pretty. Most people, they think homemaking isn’t that worthwhile. I think there’s an art to it.”

“I never thought of it like that before,” Padma said with a bit of awe.

“I don’t know if it’s like – the high arts,” continued Lavender Brown. “I can’t say that it’s a low art, mind. Whatever, I don’t fancy referring to art as high or low. Do you – do you get what I’m saying? Am I saying it right?”

Padma looked at the faint crease between Lavender Brown’s impeccable dark brows. “I get what you’re saying.”

“Okay, that’s good.” Then Lavender Brown let out a little laugh. “I’ve never been good at saying what I want to say. Especially the important ones. They always come out wrong. I had to think about how to say all that.”

Padma hesitated. “I misunderstand a lot of things.”

“You’re very smart,” Lavender Brown said, frowning.

Padma shook her head a little. “That’s different. I misunderstand a lot. Mostly that’s because I judge too fast. So, please tell me.” At Lavender Brown’s puzzled look Padma said, “Whatever you want to say to me, you can take as long as you like to say how you want to. Or you can just throw it all on me and I’ll do my best. I just – want to understand.”

Lavender Brown turned her face away to pour more tea. She was silent for quite some time, so Padma fussed with the hem of her red cloak as the shadows from the windows lengthened.

Then she heard Lavender Brown suck in a breath.

“Right, okay,” said Lavender Brown. When she turned to face Padma half her face was touched by the shadows but there was a burning, intent look in her eyes that jolted through Padma and made her quite weak in the knees.

“Okay,” repeated Lavender Brown, her mouth a determined line. “So I have this – thing. That when I have a problem, or when a situation makes me feel really sad and heavy-like, I do this thing where I, um, block it. I refuse to entertain the sadness. It makes me feel lousy. I hate that. So I do all I can to not think about it.”

No pink elephants, Padma fleetingly remembered. That couldn’t be healthy.

“That’s your coping technique,” Padma said, slowly.

Lavender Brown appeared to consider this. “I suppose.”

“Is that healthy?” said Padma.

Lavender Brown lifted her shoulders. “I’m happy. I reckon. I’ve got mates from work. And ones I’ve met from uni. Great people. My family knows and they’re supportive, and that’s all that matters.”

Padma set down her cup and shifted on the sofa so that she was fully facing Lavender. “You can talk to me.”

Lavender peered at Padma from between her escaped bright curls. She tucked a lock behind her ear. “You know, I’m getting that impression. It’s – lovely.”

Evening had fallen now. The shadows mingled with the flickering on of the hazy street lamps outside, where a sprinkle of stars had started to glint, and here inside Lavender pulled on a beaded cord to turn on the lamp.

After a beat she said, “Speaking of art – what, what’s so funny?”

Padma lowered her palm from her mouth. “That’s quite a shift.”

“Are you starting with the werewolf puns now?” Lavender asked lightly. “I am a woman of talents. But speaking of art, your baking is art. Have you ever thought about turning it into a business?”

“It’s just a hobby,” demurred Padma. 

“You told me people loved your baking,” Lavender pointed out. “I love your baking. It’s truly great, by the way. But anyway, people loved it enough to request more baked goods from you. There’s a demand, I’m telling you.”

Padma was a bit dubious. “I’ve got exactly two demands. That’s not exactly a clamour.”

“Well, see what they think during the wedding,” Lavender told her.

*

It would be quite a while before Mandy’s wedding. Padma had time to despair at Mandy’s colour choice and still feel suspiciously teary at her best friend getting married. Padma had time to experiment on carrot and cream ratio.

During the days when she and Lavender didn’t go to the grocery, Padma had time to slip out of her carrot-stained apron and give Lavender a Floo call.

“I had the worst day,” Lavender was complaining one night. Padma could see her swing her purse on the floral sofa and shrug out of her blazer.

“Tell me about it.”

Lavender sprawled by the rug in front of the fireplace. “D’you know how vital the Muggle underground train is to Muggle mood? They call it the Tube.”

Padma frowned. “There’s a Muggle mood called the Tube?”

“No,” Lavender laughed, “the Tube’s the Muggle underground train, sorry. When it malfunctions especially in the morning it’s not very pretty at work. I don’t take it, but my office do, so. Tempers! Flying like pigs!” She leaned back on the rug. “So how are your carrot adventures?”

Padma had more adventures in the Muggle world when Lavender took her along to a pub just off Brompton Road. Around a cherry wood table, with her hand curled around a mug of hot chocolate with spiced rum, Padma met Lavender’s friends: Sarah had a shock of pink hair and discussed Muggle music magazines with Lavender. Arianne knew a lot about earthquakes, septum piercings, and also crocheting. Rob was a very tall lad who got very excited about Bulmers and candy floss. Juhara seemed to know what book to recommend at all occasions and had an armful of bangles which clinked when she leaned on the table and addressed Lavender and Padma with, “So are you two dating?”

Padma nearly choked on her tiropita.

Lavender was in the middle of picking off the raisins Padma had left on a napkin, having known about Padma’s aversion to raisins for months now.

They glanced at each other, and Lavender laughed.

She had such a glowy laughter, Padma thought as she hurriedly sipped on her mug. Padma loved overcast days: she didn’t care for sunshine much, and she came alive the most when night had fallen. So she couldn’t say the Lavender’s peal of laughter was bright as the sun. But it made her feel like she was tipping her head back as the glow of the moon melded with the sturdy lights of the street lamps.

“We didn’t see each other for nearly a decade,” Lavender was saying.

Padma didn’t say anything but she could feel an unhelpful smile tugging at her lips.

Lavender’s friends was a great lot, Padma decided as they gathered their coats and in Padma’s case, her red cloak. They made Lavender laugh and they knew almost all the things Padma had come to learn about Lavender. Except for the werewolf bit.

“I can’t wait for warm weather,” Lavender said when there were just the two of them on the pavement. She had a sparkly blue scarf on.

They found themselves aimlessly ambling around as people hurried by them and as the sky spilled an indigo winter evening, the city lights all coming alive to drown out the half-moon distant in the sky.

They Apparated behind a telephone box so that Lavender could show Padma the Muggle university she had attended, which was in the same city. 

Old London Road was glowing, the foot traffic a steady clacking against its sandy-grey pavements. They bought candy floss near the archway, and as they walked on Padma haltingly told Lavender about Arithmancy.

After a moment Lavender said, “Baking could be your thing, you know.”

Padma shuffled closer to Lavender so that she could hear her clearly over the din. Lavender angled herself towards Padma, thoughtfully chewing on candy floss.

“Think about it,” continued Lavender. “You’re great at it, and it makes you happy. I mean, it sounds like you feel fulfilled when you described it?”

“Yes.” Padma nodded slowly.

They paused by a sculpture of telephone boxes falling over and onto each other, like a bunch of brightly-coloured gits.

“Do you really think my baking’s great?” Padma said.

“Sure.” Lavender smiled at her. “The best I’ve ever had. It’s true. When I tasted your chocolate buns I thought I might cry because it’s so good. Even your brownies. They’re magical.”

Padma ducked her head and huffed out a laugh. “Thanks.”

Then she felt Lavender reach for her hand. Padma looked up from Lavender’s bare fingers around her red-gloved ones, and into Lavender’s face. 

“You _are_ great,” Lavender said, carefully. She looked and sounded tremendously sincere. “I really like you, Padma.”

Padma shouldn’t have eaten too much candy floss. Her throat felt dry. After a beat she turned her hand palm up so she could hold Lavender back. “I really, really like you, too, Lavender.”

“Would you like to date me?” Lavender continued, as if it were the easiest thing to say in the world. Her long-lashed marble eyes were intent on Padma.

Padma could feel her fingers tightening around Lavender’s. She’d never been as bold as that. She wished she could be.

She thought she could be, if she gripped Lavender's hand tight enough. Padma found her voice. “Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

A grin bloomed on Lavender’s face, and she drew closer, still holding Padma’s hand. “Is it okay to kiss you, then?”

Padma couldn’t help but laugh a little, something burbling in her chest coming out as a little laugh, before nodding. She thought it sounded relieved. She thought it sounded happy. 

Lavender was soon leaning forward.

Lavender was so bold, was all Padma could think about, a heartbeat before feeling Lavender’s grinning lips on hers. She could feel her red cloak fluttering about her ankles. Her cheeks were shielded from the wind’s bite by the fall of Lavender’s tight curls. Lavender’s boldness might take Padma by surprise, but Padma had always been a quick study. She drew herself closer by their joined hands. When she felt Lavender grip her back and hum into their kiss Padma could feel her heart soar: she liked that she viscerally affected Lavender.

When they broke apart, but still close enough that their giddy breaths warmed them, Lavender said, “I’ve always loved your lipstick. It’s so red. It looks so warm.”

Padma laughed and leaned in for another kiss.

*

“Won’t you consider?” Padma said not for the first time.

“I’m not invited, so nope,” said Lavender.

They were in Padma’s flat the morning of Mandy’s wedding. The carrot cake had been finished, carefully shrunken so that it wouldn’t lose flavour and freshness. Padma was balancing her leg on a chair as she put on her red silk stockings. Lavender stood leaning against the door to the kitchen, still in her pyjama bottoms.

“That robe is so amazingly cut,” Lavender commented. 

Padma flashed her a smile and returned to rolling up her stockings. 

But the sight of Lavender sleep rumpled swiftly followed by the stockings distracted her a bit. Last night Lavender had slowly rolled up Padma’s stockings, trailing each inch up by an open-mouthed kiss. It had left Padma breathless and sweating, naked in nothing but her red lace stockings.

Padma cleared her throat and straightened up.

Her hair fell in a black sheet around her shoulders. She still had to dress her hair and put on her lippie, but she approached Lavender first.

Lavender had never taken off her glamour, not even when the both of them were tumbling into bed at four in the morning after delicious orgasms. Padma had thought that maybe this wedding would be a chance for Lavender to consider coming back to Wizarding society, but Lavender was resolved not to.

She cupped Lavender’s glamoured cheek now, and pecked her on the lips. “All right. I understand.”

Lavender caught her wrist in a gentle grip. “Have a great time,” she murmured. “Don’t be too nervous about the cake. How many guests?”

“A hundred.” Padma’s heart thudded. “Mandy said they wanted an intimate setting.”

“Okay, then.” Lavender’s thumb ran soothing circles on Padma’s wrist. “Okay, so a hundred people about to be blessed by your cake.”

“What are you doing today?”

“I’m finishing a chapter on your book,” Lavender said with a sudden grin. “Wendelin the Weird’s biography. She’s got this diary entry waxing on and on about a cake, but it’s not a cake on a plate at all.”

Both of them started to snicker like children. 

“I know that,” Padma said. “The cake under Lucia’s skirts. I can’t believe you’re making me think of cakes like that.”

“Then I’ll check on my plants,” continued Lavender, “feed the rabbit.”

“Will I see you later?”

“If you like.”

“I’d love to,” Padma promised. 

With a last look over her shoulder at Lavender’s encouraging smile, Padma departed for Mandy’s wedding.

Mandy’s wedding made Padma tear up a bit. It was intimate, with honeysuckles dripping from the marquee and heartfelt speeches and Mandy and Lee both doing an interpretative dance.

Padma got a lot of compliments on the cake, and soon her red purse was full of scraps of parchment scribbled with people’s Floo addresses. Her purse felt heavy with hope.

It was a lovely time. She saw Teddy Lupin chasing the blue bubbles that Harry Potter kept Conjuring. Mrs. Longbottom was deep in conversation with Mrs. Tonks over glasses of sherry. Mandy was dancing and throwing flowers whilst Cho and Luna chased the flowers with their wands, soon unravelling a giant flower wreath.

“You look good,” Parvati told Padma at one point, and added, “You look like you’re not telling me something.”

Padma turned to consider Parvati and the pink glittery butterfly clip perching on her twin’s hair.

They’d always known each other well. And Parvati had been Lavender’s best mate.

“Maybe some time,” she told Parvati. 

*

Lavender did not sidle into the wedding nor did she stalk about nearby only to be inevitably discovered by the party, like in storybooks. Padma found her in the park near Lavender’s flat, knitting in the spring sunshine.

“Well?” inquired Lavender as Padma took off her red cloak and settled on the blanket.

Padma felt her own cheeks lift, and Lavender answered with a grin.

“See? Your baking is an art.”

“I’ve missed you,” Padma told her, and Lavender’s grin softened to warm smile, her eyes shining in the sun.

Still smiling, Padma laid out her red cloak over her patch of the blanket and laid down on it. She nuzzled at the orchid scented cloak, kicking off her shoes and stretching her legs. She watched Lavender knit for several minutes, feeling the restlessness of not having a map waft out of her.

Eventually Lavender put down her knitting. She shifted over to where Padma was laying, gently straddling Padma’s thighs. Padma watched Lavender watch her.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Lavender said, and reached for her wand.

Padma blinked.

There Lavender sat without her glamour. The sunlight touched on the thick rope of scar clawing from Lavender’s ear to the tip of her chin, on another scar from her jaw and forking down to her collarbones. Scratches painted Lavender’s bare arms beneath her pink T-shirt.

Padma felt a breath of relief leave her. It was still Lavender. It was only her Lavender.

Padma ran her hands up and down Lavender’s arms. Lavender's arms were sun-warmed, like the rest of Lavender, but Padma was comfortable being in the cool shade of some leaves and Lavender's hair. She peered up at Lavender’s hesitant eyes, and smiled. “Kiss me.”

She saw Lavender’s lips tremble on a bright smile, before she felt them on hers. Padma put her arms around Lavender’s strong shoulders, drawing her closer. She buried her fingers in Lavender’s thick pile of her and showered kisses on her scarred face, until they were both laughing.

When Lavender sat up again, her thighs like steel on either side of Padma’s own, she tipped her head back and basked in the sun. Her face was as scarred as the moon, but infinitely more beautiful than the combined glow of the moon and the streetlamps.

Padma sat up as well so she could draw Lavender’s face close to hers again. When they kissed again, it was more languid, like coming home to something familiar, and all around them spring’s new leaves fluttered, murmuring hope and promise.

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> When not scrambling for coursework deadlines or daydreaming about fics I'm short on time to write, I'm over at blotsandcreases.tumblr.com sighing happily at all the great things. :)


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